


find me in the wrecks

by sunbound



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbound/pseuds/sunbound
Summary: and i've made a home out of this cold bricks. a lonely home for one, yes, so small i could barely fit myself in there. tiny and suffocating, but i've ought to find home in it, anyway.pas peur?but how can i be anything other than afraid when the bricks of my home are falling over my head, and you're standing there with a sledgehammer clutched between your hands?find me in the wrecks.





	find me in the wrecks

**Author's Note:**

> in these trying times, please Do have something sweet

 

**[FRIDAY, 20:53]**

 

One week.

It's been one week since _Le Petit Ceinture_ , one week since Eliott played around with his flashlight, one week since Lucas felt a thrill of life, of something new, of something _good._ One week since intertwined fingers in the dark and touch of lips has felt so right. Eliott pulled him closer until rain started to drench them both, and Lucas wouldn't have minded even if he were made of paper.

It's been six days since Eliott n. 3546 called himself a lucky bastard and left a drawing on his pillow. Six days since the morning light shone over them, and they talked of different universes and endless possibilities. Lucas has never felt more lucky for being himself, and not Lucas n. 672 or Lucas. 2620. Just Lucas, here and now, and it has never been such a good thing.

It's never felt something other than a curse to be himself, and not some other Lucas, who doesn't like boys and has life figured out, and not a crazy mom, and maybe a less absent father. Every other day, he would've probably bent heaven and hell just to be that Lucas, but last Saturday hasn't been like any other day.

It's been two days since Eliott kissed him in a school hallway, that beautiful smile of his plastered on his face, and he said he's told Lucille about them, and the thought of there existing an _us_ was as loud as the thought of someone else knowing Lucas Lallemant kissed another boy. Then, Eliott asked if he'd tell his parents, and breathing became a hard thing to do.

It'd mean more people knowing, more people talking and thinking things about him, things these he can't have any control over, and these thoughts can easily spiral him into madness.

It's been one day since he tried to tell Mika, and it ended up in a fight because of poor word choices and misguided ideas since Lucas himself doesn't know what he is, or what's going on. He knows there's Eliott, and that he wants to kiss him, that he likes him in the way he should've liked Sarah, but Sarah has been a lie, he knows that much.

But ‘gay’ is a strong word, and it comes attached to so many ideas. So many _wrong_ ideas about who he is because Lucas has never been one to like Beyoncé or Lady Gaga. He likes The Clash and Nirvana, and he doesn't dress up in flashy clothes, doesn't want to. He's never been one to talk too loudly or to use certain slangs. If people knew he likes boys, likes _Eliott,_ they'll tie those ideas to him, and maybe Lucas will be less of himself.

It's frightening. More than being in the dark with another boy.

It's also been one day since Eliott asked for a time.

Honestly, Lucas was angry at himself, for allowing the idea of an _us_ to be so tempting that he got careless; for fighting with Mika for nothing; for letting some walls down so easily because of a pretty face and easy laughs; for thinking that, maybe, liking one boy wasn't such a bad thing.

It's been one day that Lucas has filled every vacant minute wondering _why_ would Eliott ask for a time, when Wednesday everything seemed fine. It's been one day of crushing the drawing and unfolding it to look at it just one more time.

It's been a hour, maybe, since Basile annoyed him into going to Chloé’s. It's been a hour, maybe, since Chloé shouted, “You’re gay, Lucas! You’re gay,” and he couldn't help but ask back, “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” because he isn't _gay,_  he isn't a ‘wild crazy gay’, he's told Mika that. He just likes Eliott, and that's all.

It's been a hour, maybe, since he punched that gate, asking himself, “Who will love me?” because his friends are too busy trying to get girls to notice them, and his father is gone, his mother is out of her mind. He fought with Mika, and Eliott is too busy with Lucille to notice him. Who is there left?

_Qui m’aimera?_

He's alone, and he's been sitting on the cold pavement for a hour or so. The tears on his eyes are already dried, the blood on his knuckles are drying, too, and maybe Lucas is starting to shiver a little. He heard the boys leaving the party, Yann’s laugh and Basile’s shouts, and Arthur’s complaints about his glasses, or something, minutes ago.

Lucas heard them leaving and prayed they didn't find him, for them to take another way home. Thankfully, they did

Sadly, someone else found him.

“Lucas?” he calls. “Lucas, is that you?” and he has never wished so hard to be someone else, to be a version of himself who hasn't come across Eliott Demaury.

Lucas isn't thinking much when he gets up, his body whining after being sitting still for so long. His legs barely seem capable of holding himself up, let alone taking him places, but Lucas ignores it as he forces them to move, to take him somewhere—anywhere, as long as it's far from Eliott.

“Lucas!” he calls again, and there are steps following him, now.

“Eliott!” Lucille shouts, too, but the footsteps don't stop, and Lucas hears when she complains in a much lower volume. Maybe she leaves, maybe she doesn't. It's hard to know, to care.

“Lucas, wait.”

 _Keep walking,_ he tells himself because he's still angry. He's angry that Eliott said sweet things, and took him to _Le Petit Ceinture,_ and drew him as a hedgehog, and kissed him in a school hallway, just to go back to Lucille. _I've told Lucille about us,_ but he also tossed that _us_ in the trash for no apparent reason.

And Lucas is angry and hurt.

Is this—is _he_ —just a joke to Eliott, just a night before he goes back to his girlfriend? Is he just a laugh?

He clenches his fists out of annoyance and feels the dried blood on his knuckles cracking open. Lucas shoves his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and keeps on walking.

He keeps on walking until he can't because Eliott grabs his arm. “Lucas,” he calls again, gently pulling his arm. _I don't want your gentleness,_ he thinks and yanks his arm free.

Lucas wonders if the blood of his knuckles is staining the inside of his pockets.

Maybe is just another way of ignoring what else is being stained.

 _T’es gay, Lucas,_ and people looked at him, he's sure of it. Some people might have laughed at him. Yesterday, he's said he didn't want to be out. Today, he's been yanked out, too much light scorching his eyes, his skin, his ears. _Maybe no one heard. The music was loud,_ he tries, but so was Chloé’s voice and he's sure he heard people laughing and muttering.

“Lucas, wait.”

“Go back to Lucille, Eliott,” he growls and walks away, because what else is there to do, to say?

He walks and walks and walks until he notices he's too far away from his building. He doesn't know those trees, those streets, and the lights on windows feel like eyes watching him, and they're laughing. _What time is it,_ but his phone has died while he was sitting on the pavement. _Fuck,_ and he turns around to go home, just to realise his keys are forgotten at Yann’s, and he shouts.

Everything is going so, so wrong, and he starts to cry again.

He's alone, and his phone is dead, and he doesn't have his keys, and Eliott is with Lucille again, and the whole world knows something he doesn't know for sure himself. _T’es gay, Lucas,_ and Chloé’s voice echoes in his mind, haunting, maddening and forcing him to look at something he doesn't want to. _T’es gay,_ and Lucas feels as if thrown under a spotlight, dressed as a clown against his will, and everyone is laughing at a joke he didn't crack.

 _You're the joke,_ and he wants to tear his skin apart, unmake himself until he's nothing, and maybe he'll be able to breathe again.

His feet hurt, his knuckles are glistening with blood again. “Shit,” he complains as he turns around.

 

**[SATURDAY, 00:42]**

 

It's considerably late when Lucas finds his way back home and stands on the building’s door and stares at it, gathering the guts to buzz at his own apartment. He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell.

Once. Twice. Four times before someone answers. “What?” Mika shouts through the intercom. “Do you even know what time is—”

“Hey, Mika,” he says and the boy on the other end goes silent. “I've lost my keys. Can you buzz me in?”

There's a sigh, but the gate buzzes open anyway and he sprints upstairs, hoping no one will be waiting for him. He can listen to Mika’s complaints about how he's an awful, annoying flatmate tomorrow. He can listen to Lisa’s whining about ringing the intercom so late at night tomorrow.

But not today because Lucas can't take any more blows today.

His knuckles are sore, and so is everything else.

Lucas doesn't really pay attention to Mika’s grumbling as he walks past the front door and storms into his room just to see someone asleep on his bed. Manon. Shit. She stirs and looks at him. “Lucas?”

“Shit, sorry, Manon. I forgot—” and he leaves before she can say anything or ask anything. Everything is so tiring and Lucas simply throws himself on the couch, suppressing any sob or tear he may still have, and he falls asleep like that.

 

If he dreams of raccoons and hedgehogs it's his own secret. If the dream becomes about faceless mannequins laughing and whispering to the point of driving him to edge of sanity, it's a nightmare he won't speak of. If Eliott is there, laughing, too, the only face among so many faceless people, it's Lucas’ own heartbreak to deal with.

 

**[SATURDAY, 14:09]**

 

“What happened to your hand?” Manon asks as soon as he enters the kitchen. She's baking again.

“Nothing,” Lucas answers as he grabs the water jar from the fridge. “I just fell,” he answers. “Sorry about walking in your bedroom. I forgot.”

“It's your bedroom,” she answers as she whisks the batter. “Lucas,” Manon starts, placing the bowl on the counters. “You know you can—”

“Yeah. I know. I can talk to you,” he cuts. “But there's nothing to talk about, so,” he opens his arms and she picks up the bowl with a sigh.

It's easy to lie. It's comforting, even. Tell a lie enough and it'll become a truth, people said, and so he did. It's organic, now, to brush worries aside because there's _nothing_ wrong. There aren't any problems, and he's fine. It's so easy to say those things, to keep himself from confrontations and explaining.

It's so easy to make a home out of lies. A brick here and there, cement between them, and a home starts to be built. Let people believe in a Lucas he can create, rather than the Lucas he has no control over, can't change.

_Lie, and be the architect of yourself._

“You should get that bruise cleaned up,” Manon says and he leaves the kitchen.

He does so. He takes a bath and ignores the way the water drenching his hair feels a lot like the rain, back on last Friday, or how the water isn't as warm as Eliott’s fingertips. But then, he remembers his dream, the mocking smile on the boy’s face and Lucas wants to scream again.

He bandages himself up and decides it'll have to do because no one else will do it for him.

 

**[SUNDAY, 03:26]**

 

His phone lights up again and he sighs. _I should just turn it off,_ he thinks as he looks at the screen and his blood freezes. Lucas reads and rereads the name just to be sure it's real, and every time he can't help but wonder _why._

_Eliott [2019/02/24 03:27]: Sorry for the late text. Hope I don't wake you up. I saw you the other night and I was worried. Is everything ok?_

Lucas scoffs and tosses his phone aside.

_Eliott [2019/02/24 03:29]: Hope you're ok._

_You [201/02/24 03:29]: Just go back to her since all of this is a joke to you anyway._

_Eliott [2019/02/24 03:29]: What do you mean?_

_Eliott [2019/02/24 03:34]: Lucas, what are you talking about?_

_Eliott [2019/02/24 04:28]: You were never a joke to me._

But it sure doesn't feel like it.

 

**[SUNDAY, 16:08]**

 

_Eliott [2019/02/24 16:08]: Don't think you were._

 

**[MONDAY, 14:21]**

 

It's terrifying to be at school.

Lucas doesn't know who knows, who heard Chloé, who's talking and who isn't. It's exhausting and terrifying to walk around calculating every step, examining every face, hearing his friends’ voices laughing at his expense, at the expense of a lie Chloé said in a party.

He wears the hood of his coat as if it was a mask, as if it could hide him from people’s stares, even though Lucas knows it can't, but there's comfort in pretending, and it'll have to be enough for now.

It's not good, not really, but it's not as bad as it could be, so it'll have to be enough. And like that Lucas tries to brave his way through the day. Even when he wishes he could be gone, even when he wants to ask people what they're staring at or laughing about. Even when Chloé tells him off. “I think whatever I want. I say whatever I want, to whoever I want,” and Lucas’ world has been spinning since.

By the time he talks with Yann, all he wants to do is sit down and cry.

It's an awfully lonely situation. _You can't understand,_ he's told Yann because it's the truth. Yann doesn't understand the fear of being seen as something he's not, as gay, as a ‘wild crazy gay’, as someone else entirely. Yann can't understand the paralysing fear of not knowing what people will think, what they'll do, if they will change with him or not. Yann will never understand how frightening it was to kiss Eliott, to kiss a boy, and feel like things were _right_ ; the perfect puzzle piece for the vacant space in which Lucas has been trying to squeeze Sarah and Chloé and the other girls he's kissed, but they never quite fitted. It's even more terrifying when Lucas thinks it may be because it's a boy he kissed, and not because it was Eliott.

Yann can't understand that, and Lucas can't risk being even more alone. If his best friend changes or leaves, he doesn't think he can endure that on top of everything else.

Lucas just wants to cry and scream until his throat is sore and he can't make another sound, and then lie down somewhere until he becomes nothing, because everything is too much to deal with. Eliott’s text, Chloé, his friends, his mother, the rent, Mika and Lisa constantly complaining, himself. It's a mess he can't figure out where to start fixing.

It's too much and he's just one boy, and the corners of his eyes are burning again.

 

**[MONDAY, 18:03]**

 

School is over. Now, it's just a bus before Lucas can bury himself in the couch and ignore everything until tomorrow. Just one bus away, and it could be so simple, if only Eliott hasn't showed up.

“Hey,” he says, and Lucas can feel his gaze on himself. He refuses to meet it.

“Hi.”

“I meant what I said in those texts.”

“Ok.”

 _Where is this bus,_ he thinks desperately. Lucas just wants to get home and forget all about school and Eliott and his life. Just few hours of peace, it's all he asks for.

They sit in an unbearable silence for a few minutes before he sees his bus. He's about to get up, when Eliott grabs his injured hand and Lucas jerks it free out of reflex. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He's about to signal the bus when Eliott gets up and stands in front of him. “Lucas, why is your hand bandaged?”

“I fell, okay?” he snaps. “I'll miss my bus. So, if you'd please step aside—”

“Come to my place. I'll redo the bandage for you. This one is barely holding up.”

“Eliott,” Lucas censors, and when he's about to keep his sentence, his bus drives past their stop and he groans.

Eliott offers him a half smile and quirks his brows upwards. “So?”

And the truth is that he wants to, he wants to go and let Eliott hold his hand, carefully tending to his bruised knuckles. Lucas does want to give in to that smile and greyish blue eyes because he still remembers how it feels like to taste freedom on those lips.

 _No_ , he tries to convince himself, but Eliott is looking at him with expectation filling every inch of those eyes and Lucas can't bring his lips to curl around that word, so he nods. “How will you redo this?” he asks, lifting his hand.

“I happen to be great at bandaging people up,” he says and Lucas smiles.

 

**[MONDAY, 18:37]**

 

Eliott turns out to be, indeed, fairly good at making curatives. There's a tenderness with which he holds Lucas’ hand and a delicacy as he tends to the wound. It's different, alien, to be touched like that, with so much care and thought. There's this new feeling blossoming inside his chest, and Lucas tries to brush it aside.

 _Qui m’aimera,_ he's asked three days ago. Love, as stories tell, as he imagines it, may feel like this; this care and tenderness. _Qui m’aimera,_ and maybe, aside from his friends, it can be this boy of gentle hands.

 _Don't be stupid,_ he censors himself. _Don't be stupid_ because Eliott has been the one to ask for a time, to go back to Lucille without any explanation. _Don't be stupid_ because stupidity might hurt a bit more than just bloodied knuckles. _Don't be stupid_ because it may lead down a road he won't know the way back.

 _Don't be stupid,_ but Eliott is tending to his bruises as rain pours outside, and Lucas isn't sure of which bruises he's talking about. He thinks it may be more than just those on his hand. “There you go,” he says as he ties the bandage and smiles. “Much better, right?”

“It's all right.”

“All right?” Eliott laughs. “C'mon, it's much better.”

“Ok. Maybe a little bit.”

And Eliott looks at him the way he does, with wonder and gentleness and expectation. It's the same way he looked at him on the bus stop, and by the window, and under the rain, half-smile lifting his cheeks and eyes glistening even in this dim light of his apartment.

Lucas looks away.

“Thank you, man,” he says and Eliott chuckles.

“Man,” he mutters.

Lucas doesn't know how he's supposed to call him. He's aware that calling Eliott ‘man’ or ‘dude’ or ‘bro’ feels wrong, but what else is he to do? “Thanks, but I have to go home.”

“It's raining outside.”

“I'm not afraid of the rain,” and it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

Eliott nods. “I know. But you could catch a cold,” he offers. “You can stay until it passes, if you want.”

And he wants it. It's what he's been wanting for the past days. But staying is blurring his vision, and making it hard to breathe; but staying feels like walking on a tightrope and not knowing if there's something underneath to soften his fall.

He listens to rain pouring outside, the sound of water against the pavement, the roof, the windows. He looks at Eliott and his brown coat, the expectation printed all over his face as if everything is as it was last week, as if there hasn't been any text or party, as if a Eliott hasn't said ‘not necessarily a girl, though’, looking into his eyes, just to toss it in the trash.

As if Lucas isn't hurting just by standing here, as if his chest isn't tightening and his mind isn't going back and forth to that text he already knows by heart, and it's such a sad thing to have engraved on one’s heart.

He wants to stay, to give in, but there are thorns tightening around his heart and Lucas can feel the bleeding. He wants to stay, but, right now, staying hurts too much.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice the most transparent it's been in a while. He scoffs. “Why are you talking to me like nothing happened?” and it feels like opening a tap, and now whatever is spilling out of it, too fast and too strongly to be stopped. “You can't do this. You can't keep going back and forth between me and Lucille. You—You—It's just not fair. You ask for a time, and disappear. The next day, I find you kissing her, and just choose one, dude,” he says. “Just make a goddamn choice instead of coming to me as if nothing happened. Not if you're going back to her in two or three days.”

“Lucas—”

“And you have the guts of telling me I wasn't a joke to you.”

“You weren't,” Eliott tries but Lucas is already crossing the front door. “You were the most serious I've been in a while,” too bad the other boy isn't there to hear it.

 

**[TUESDAY, 16:01]**

 

Lucas opens his locker just to have a piece of yellow paper fall from it.

It's a drawing of a raccoon holding up a heart.

Below it, there are three letters.

_Toi._

Lucas scoffs and buries the paper in his pocket as he walks to his next class.

 

**[WEDNESDAY, 06:33]**

 

_Eliott [2019/02/27 06:33]: Did you see my note?_

_You [2019/02/27 07:04]: Did you mean it?_

_Eliott [2019/02/27 07:04]: Yes._

 

**[WEDNESDAY, 09:56]**

 

Lucas finds another note from Eliott in his locker.

This one has a brick wall with a hole made of absent bricks. Through it, a raccoon looks at him.

_Tu viens?_

 

**[THURSDAY, 11:48]**

 

Avoiding Eliott is fairly easy, since he's a year ahead and rarely at school. Ignoring his texts and notes, on the other hand, is a bit harder. Lucas can't pretend he hasn't seen them, hasn't read them, when he has. Every now and then, he catches himself looking at the note again, the raccoon holding out a heart to him. _Toi,_ and it feels impossible Eliott chose him.

It's fairly easy to avoid him until it isn't because Eliott is standing in front of his classroom and he's the first thing Lucas sees after crossing the door. He stops and hears people grumbling as they almost stumble upon him, and feels the students moving around him.

“How's your hand?” Eliott tries, coming forward.

“Getting better,” he answers.

“Can we talk?” Eliott asks when he sees Lucas has no intention of adding something else. “Since you don't reply to my texts or my notes.”

“I still have classes to attend.”

“Not now. After school, at my place. Please?”

They're mostly alone on the hallway, now, and the bell should ring in no time. Lucas can't bring himself to care. “I have beer and I can play you the Star Wars theme song on piano,” he offers and Lucas smiles. “One-time opportunity.”’

“Okay. If I like your cover, then we'll talk,” because, now, the thorns around his heart are loosening their grips.

“It'll sound better than the original, then,” he jokes and the bell rings. They both linger for a minute. “So, I'll see you later?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you will.”

And they both walk to their own classes for the rest of the day.

 

**[THURSDAY, 19:02]**

 

“May I present you,” Eliott says in an exaggerated ceremonious voice as he sits by the piano, “the best piano cover for Star Wars’ theme song.”

Lucas laughs where he is on the couch, bottle of beer in hand. “Surprise me,” he jokes.

Eliott plays, and it's a very good cover, indeed. It sounds nice on piano, too. Lucas watches him, his tousled hair and navy blue sweater, how his arms move as he plays, and he listens to the notes. There’s some sort of momentaneous peace that envelopes around, and he takes a sip from his bottle.

When the song ends, Eliott turns around. “So? How did I do?”

“Oh, you were all right,” he jokes. “No, just kidding. It was amazing.”

“So, I passed the test?”

“You did,” Lucas answers, but there wasn't any test.

He wants to have this conversation as much as Eliott does. He's bitter and hurt, but avoidance it's damaging more than healing. It's easier to ignore, to bury it inside of him and pretend isn't there, but the truth is that he misses Eliott, and his texts with random facts on diverse subjects, and when he shows up with a link leading to a Spotify playlist he made with song recommendations, and the pictures of his doodles every now and then.

He misses feeling something other than tired because Lucas knows he can be comfortable around Eliott, that he doesn't have to hide, to avert his gaze, to pretend. Lucas isn't still entirely sure of who he is, but he knows who he's not. He also know Eliott would never demand him to be the latter. With Eliott, he can be himself, this Lucas from this universe, and it feels like being free.

And he misses it.

There isn't much reason to avoid it, not when avoiding takes much more energy than giving in, not when it's just them in a closed apartment.

“Is your hand better?” Eliott asks again, and Lucas looks at it instinctively. He's not wearing bandages anymore, and the bruises are healing.

“Yeah, it is.”

“How did you hurt it?”

 _Be honest,_ but honesty has never come easy to him. It's so easy to lie, to hide behind the walls of this crooked home he built from those lies. It's so easy to let Eliott believe it's been nothing, just a fall. It's simple and effective. _Be honest,_ but is honesty something that can be learned so easily?

“I was angry,” he settles on a half-truth.

“Ok,” Eliott grabs his bottle and drinks from it. “Your turn to ask something.”

“Are we playing a game, now?”

“If you want to.”

“Ok. Was it worth it, the time you took?”

Eliott smiles. “Still straight to the personal questions, huh?” he takes a while to come up with an answer, and Lucas doesn't know what to think of it as he waits. He busies himself with scratching the label out of the bottle. “I think it was.”

“Why?”

“It made me sure of what I wanted.”

“And what is that?”

“It's one question per round, not a questionnaire.”

Lucas laughs. “Ok, fair enough.”

“Why were you outside the party on Friday?”

“I—” he starts but trails off. “Basile annoyed me into going. He wanted to get into the party because of Daphné, and he thinks I'm still with Chloé. He thought it was a good idea,” he shrugs. They both drink from their bottles. “Why did you need a time, Eliott?” he asks and the other boy looks at him.

He looks and looks before breaking into a sad smile. “I knew you'd ask this,” he says. “I've prepared myself for it, but—” he trails off, and Lucas knows that gaze; he sees it in his own eyes whenever he crosses any reflecting surface.

It's painful to see it on Eliott Demaury’s eyes.

“Change of question,” he says. “What's your favourite ice cream?”

Eliott laughs. “Vanilla.”

“That's so boring. No, your favourite ice cream flavour just _can't_ be vanilla.”

“It's not boring,” he defends. “It's a light flavour, and it goes well with anything. I can throw dozens of toppings in a vanilla ice cream and it will taste good.”

“Why bother having ice cream if you're just going to bury it under toppings?”

“Because they're nice.”

“You can't properly taste the ice cream. It's horrible.”

“It's not my fault you like your ice cream plain and boring.”

“You're a heathen,” and they both laugh.

It feels good, and Lucas welcomes it like an old friend.

Eliott gets up from where he's sitting by the piano and flops down beside him on the sofa. “I've missed you,” he comments after a while. “I thought that I wouldn't, that it'd be the best for both of us, but I've missed you.”

“Why would it be the best for me?”

There's a silence that could have lasted hours or a millisecond, it wouldn't have mattered. “You said you didn't need crazy people in your life,” he whispers, and his voice is so low Lucas can barely catch on what he's said. “So, I left. But I missed you so much.”

“You didn't have to leave.”

“You can't know that,” Eliott counters. “I've gone back to Lucille because, I don't know. It's,” and he takes a few seconds choosing a word. “Familiar,” he settles on. “We know each other. We can deal with each other.”

“So, you're just gonna stay with her forever?” he asks. “Because of familiarity?”

“No.” He looks at Lucas like he did when he said ‘Not necessarily a girl, though’, and Lucas can feel his heart skipping a beat. “It's not Lucille who I want to be with,” and they hold each other’s gaze as if their lives depended on it, as if looking away meant shattering this reality into nothing.

“So who do you want to be with?” Lucas’ own voice isn't louder than a huff of breath.

“I think I've already given you that answer.”

“Give it again, then.”

It's odd, really, the way things happen. How, among countless possibilities sorted out chaotically by one choice, the Universe allowed the coincidence of Lucas and Eliott. How they gravitated towards each other so easily, pulled into each other’s orbit by a force stronger than them. Lucas isn't pretentious enough to believe the Universe cares about fleeting human lives

In the grand scheme of things, what is this microscopic moment?

Nothing, quicker than the speed of sound, as irrelevant as every other human affair, an existence that will be wiped out as fast as it was born. Eternity is but a day in the Universe’s life, and this existence is a mere millisecond. So if _this_ is a millisecond, then Lucas wouldn't mind living a forever of it, he thinks as Eliott gravitates closer.

It's wonderful, really, how life is but a series of coincidences, and _this_ is possible. What a wondrous event, to be here, in this universe where the curtains are of this colour, and there are drawings of raccoons and foxes spread on the wall; where a piano version of the Star Wars’ theme can sound so beautiful. What a marvellous thing, to share this one millisecond of eternity with Eliott Demaury, and no one else.

It's different how the world could end and their existence could be wiped out for good, and Lucas wouldn't mind if it meant melting in this kiss for a while longer. There isn't anything else, and Eliott’s mouth is the Sun of Lucas’ personal solar system.

There is only here and now, this millisecond of freedom and unspoken relief, this reality in which a _them_ is not only possible, but also real, and Lucas dissolves under the warmth of those fingertips pressed against his neck and those against his waist.

They kiss, and it feels like a silent plea for an eternity of _this_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very short fic i wrote bc i was sad after last friday's events and this whole week just Murdered me, so that's how 'find me in the wrecks' was born (she was also born out of my friends asking me to write something for elu). skamfr is my first skam ever, therefore, I Do Not Know Anything abt the original characters (and storyline) aside from, idk, their names and that they make out in a kitchen.  
> if you wanna talk abt elu/skamfr/or anything at all, i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/floresetcorvi) and on [tumblr](http://floresetcorvi.co.vu/). thank you for reading!!


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